


The Devil's Backbone

by afterthedisaster83



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark Jughead Jones, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubcon Kissing, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Organized Crime, Past Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Romance, Running Away, Time Skips, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-05 19:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterthedisaster83/pseuds/afterthedisaster83
Summary: It's been five years since Jughead has seen his beloved Betty. Five years without kissing her darling face or hearing her sweet voice call from the bedroom. He has everything now, the king of an empire, but his queen vanished without a trace. When he finds her and discovers she's been hiding a terrible secret, he vows to bring her back in every way.Or, Jughead is a mob boss-type-figure and will stop at nothing to bring Betty back to him.





	1. The Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first foray into fandom writing, so any/all suggestions would be appreciated. I'm not sure what the hell I'm doing, so please forgive any mistakes, lol. Thanks!

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done?

I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please

Don’t take that sinner from me… - The Civil Wars

**Now**

Forsythe Pendleton Jones III is tired. Bones aching, eyes burning, bridge-of-nose-pinching tired. It’s 3am and he’s five maple bourbons deep; still on edge from the day’s activities. Sweet Pea had been late on a goods exchange and come up short from his last run. On top of those two spectacular failures, he’d also called to request a meeting with some news. News from Sweet Pea was never good if he requested a formal hearing. And Jesus Christ, it was only fucking Tuesday.

Jughead sighs, drains his glass, and leans back in his chair. He sullenly surveys the crash course that is his office and headquarters of all things Serpent.

Like so many other recent transformations, the Whyte Wyrm had been converted from a seedy bar to a sleek night club under Jughead’s leadership. Once upon a time, the people of Riverdale avoided the drinking hole like scabies, but now they flocked from here and wide to see and be seen. Gone were the low beams and neon signs, replaced with techno beats and high end cocktails.

The bar was almost a metaphor for Jug himself. At the age of sixteen, he’d been an outcast and a joke, but at seventeen he’d taken up the Southside Serpents from his father and thrived. He slowly built the empire he now headed, piece by goddamn piece. At twenty, Jughead was running the largest narcotic ring this side of Sweetwater River. At twenty-five, he went straight and bought Blossom Maple Farms outright, leaving his old life behind. Now, at thirty, he was unstoppable.

His office is the only remaining vestige of the old Wyrm. It acts as a tangible memorial, honoring his father and the other original Serpents who started their “family.” On most nights, the low-lighting and lingering smoky scent comforts Jughead, but for some reason Sweet Pea’s ominous appeal has him unsettled. The last three months have been rough on his inventory and crew. This latest batch of maple products hadn’t made it over the Canadian border easily, and there was hell to pay from his buyers and team members alike. Drugs were simple, it was tariffed goods that made work difficult.

Jughead rubs his temples and closes his eyes. Without looking, he can see the sooty outlines of discarded books, pens, and folders strewn across the room. One lone manual typewriter sits in the shadows, discarded and forgotten, kindly waiting for its owner to look awry and discover it again. Opaque faces in frames wink out at Jughead; he doesn’t have to look closely to know his father, mother, sister, and friends are all frozen in time and smiling at him. Smiling at his success. Smiling at all that he’s gained.

His father’s jacket (after all these years, he still thinks of it as FP’s) is hanging half off the rack and his desk is in ruins. Burger wrappers from Pop’s fill the trashcan, and he can almost hear the voice of his lost girl murmur, _Juggy, you can’t survive on these alone, come home and have a real meal_ before his heart shuts her spectral hum out.

But her ghost, her beautiful, terrible ghost, still works its way in, her path loosened by too many maple bourbons. He should have known better. She always loved finishing his last sip.

Eyes still closed, he lets himself imbibe in her haunting, if only for a moment. _Blonde hair, green eyes, and a dusky laugh. She’s wearing his jacket and not much else. She’s in their old house, humming to the radio and making dinner. She’s sitting at Pop’s drinking a milkshake and smiling. She’s walking between rows in the library, fingers running over rigid spines. She’s on her knees worshiping him. She’s bent over his desk, crying and begging for release. She’s sullen and suffering. She’s gone._

Loud knocking draws Jughead out of his trance, his phantom girl takes her leave.

He blinks and calls for Sweet Pea to enter. Sweet Pea isn’t alone; Toni is trailing behind him.

“Hey boss, sorry about today’s fuck ups. I woke up late and was behind from the beginning.” Jughead narrows his eyes at Sweet Pea but doesn’t say anything, Sweet Pea takes this as a sign to carry on. Jughead notices a manila folder under Sweet Pea’s arm as they enter.

“Look, um, I wanted to talk with you today, but shit, I don’t even know how to begin, man.” Sweet Pea runs his fingers through his hair and sucks in a deep breath before continuing. Toni’s eyes are glued to Jughead and he feels a tingle go up his spine.

 _Something bad is coming_ , he thinks.

Toni speaks and her eyes glisten. “So you know that task you put us on several years ago? Well, last week we were successful. We found her, Jug. We found Betty.”

A deafening roar fills Jughead’s ears and he stands up so suddenly, his chair careens backwards, striking a filing cabinet with a loud _clang_. The noise ricochets through the room, Toni and Sweet Pea wince. His mouth is dry. He swallows. He looks directly in the corner where the typewriter is and sees her apparition flicker away. She’s been exorcised; the jig is up.

When he speaks, his voice is deadly. “What. Did. You. Just. Say.” It is not a question.

Toni takes the folder from Sweet Pea and approaches Jughead’s desk cautiously. “I caught a lead in Toronto a few weeks ago and found her. She’s living in a small town about an hour outside of the city. We searched this whole damn hemisphere and she was only a few hours away…” her voice trails off in wonder.

Jughead snatches the folder from Toni. “Get out,” he says sharply. Sweet Pea wastes no time but Toni lingers. He’s still looking at the folder, a small tic in his cheek but otherwise not moving.

“Jug, there’s one more thing,” she says softly. She takes a small white envelope out of her jacket pocket. “Look at this one last, okay?” She places the envelope on his desk and leaves.

He sucks in and lets out a horrendous breath then looks up at the ceiling. _One thousand, eight hundred and twenty five days_ , Jughead thinks. _2.3 million minutes. Five years…you’ve been gone. Five years without your sweet voice. Your pink lips. Five years to wonder if you’re alive or dead. Five years you vanished without a trace. Five years and countless dollars trying to find you again. Five years of our lives fucking wasted. Five years to bury and resurrect you over and over again. Five years, and now you’re here, in my hands._

Jughead wrenches the cap off his bourbon and swigs straight from the bottle. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes with shaky fingers and lights one up, taking two long drags before sitting down.

He blinks, takes another pull, then hauls the folder towards him. Closing his eyes, he silently counts backward from fifteen and opens it.

A stack of ten photos or so are haphazardly confined. He thumbs through them quickly. The first one robs him of his breath, the second one revives his soul. The third breaks his heart, but the fourth patches it anew.

She’s there. She’s alive. He weeps.

_Betty sitting outside a coffee shop, reading a book. Betty in side profile, placing bananas in a shopping cart. Betty in suspended action, getting off the bus, looking down at her feet. Betty with her back turned, unlocking a door. Betty, Betty, Betty…_

Jughead flips through the photos a thousand times, smiling slightly, heedless of his tears dripping on their glossy surface. _Her hair is longer and she’s a bit softer, but she’s there. Elizabeth Cooper is no longer a ghost; she’s flesh and blood come back to life._

An hour passes before Jughead remembers the other envelope. The one Toni implored him to save.

He stares at it, fearing it is a white flag of surrender, delivering unholy news of defeat. Is it a marriage license? A death certificate? Were the photos a cruel joke and she’s lost to him again?

He reaches for the envelope and carefully loosens the lip, mindful of whatever delicate content is inside.

A small photo flutters out and lands at his feet. He picks it up…and howls.

_Betty on the beach, barefoot, walking along the shore. She’s not alone. A little hand holds hers, the face a miniature of his own._

**Then**

“Hey there, buttercup,” Jughead whispers as he nuzzles her neck in welcome. “Something smells delish.” He inhales deeply at her throat before pulling her hair to the side to give the column a soft kiss.

“Hey there, yourself,” she murmurs, turning the stove off and into his arms. He has his jacket on and his cheeks are ruddy and cold from the motorcycle ride home. “How were your projects today?”

Jughead shrugs out of his jacket and reaches into one of the inside pockets. He pulls out a perfectly preserved daffodil and hands it to her before sitting down to remove his boots. “The last of the snow is melting, and I saw this little guy peeking through on my way home.” She smiles gently at the flower and waits for him to elaborate further.

He tugs off one boot with a grunt and says, “Projects are good. The merger is almost complete; a few more weeks and we will own BMF in full.” Betty squeals and hops into his lap, catching him off balance and causing his other boot to drop with a whump. She wraps her pale arms around his neck and babbles on.

“Ohmygosh, Juggy, I can’t believe it’s finally happening. All your hard work and dedication have paid off. Your dad will be so proud. We have to celebrate!”

Her green eyes are sparkling and he cannot look away when her joy is on such full display. Betty’s aura is always shining, but when she’s happy, he is pulled deeper into her orbit. He’s a cool moon, constantly rotating around her sun, indulging her whims one day, effecting her tides the next. They live in this cosmos together, forever linked and tied.

“I made your favorite hot dish tonight, but we can put it in the fridge and go to Pop’s. Whaddya say?” She leans back and looks into his eyes. That’s when he notices her apron and pearls.

Domestic Betty is one of his favorite versions of her never ending personalities. He realizes this probably makes him slightly misogynistic, but he doesn’t give a shit. There’s something about coming home to a woman, _his_ woman, with an apron on, making a meal for him.

“I think we should pause on dinner and go straight to dessert,” Jughead says with a wink. He’s already up and lifting her to the kitchen table, his hands going to the apron bow at her back. She giggles.

“You always want dessert first.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love this little frilly thing?” Jughead asks as he pulls it from her waist. “It’s so sweet, I could eat it up.” He leans in and scrapes his teeth along her jaw. She sighs and tips her head back further; he knows he has her now.

Her polka dotted dress is removed next along with her undergarments. He leaves the pearls and heels for his own visceral enjoyment and can smell her desire when he slides her panties down. A soft “Please, Juggy…” escapes her lips and he cannot help but feast on her want. She falls back onto the table with a moan and he can feel her heels poking his back through his t-shirt. He slowly licks her folds and then draws hard on her nub using teeth and tongue. Her back arches and she plunges one hand in his hair for anchorage. It isn’t long before she’s shuddering beneath his mouth and fingers. Betty goes still and one leg slides off his shoulder. He stands.

She’s sprawled out on their table in disarray. Her coral lips are parted and her breathing is slightly elevated. She peers at him with hooded eyes and he’s transfixed.

"Goddamn, buttercup. You wreck me.” With that, he unbuttons his jeans enough to remove his leaking cock and plunges in. She leans back on her hands for better leverage and wraps both legs around his waist. He thrusts deeply, watching her breasts bounce, crowned with those glorious pearls.

He tilts his head back and she sees his neck muscles bunch in exertion. They’re wild for each other, and he fucks her desperately. “God Juggy, I love you so much. You feel so good inside me, please don’t ever stop.” Opening his eyes, he slows down his movements, savoring the feel of her silken grasp. He reaches between them and uses the heel of his hand to grind on her clit. She screams.

“That’s it baby, come for me.” Betty curls one elegant hand behind his neck, buries her face in his shoulder and does just that. He feels her inner muscles flutter around his cock then hears her sweetly ask, “Fill me up, Juggy. Please.” He groans, thrusts once, twice, before following her into the abyss.

Gasping, he pours, shuddering, into her then collapses like a dying man. Minutes later, small hands are drawing light designs on his back and it registers he didn’t even remove his shirt. Next time.

“I take it you enjoyed dessert?” she says with a laugh. He grumbles his approval and separates himself from her. He can see some of his seed leaking out between her thighs and it fills him with a strange sense of pride. They’re not on the pill, but Betty has a handy app on her phone, and she usually tells him when he needs to come anywhere but inside her. Sometimes he doesn’t know which option he enjoys more.

He helps Betty off the table and uses a dinner napkin to wipe away the cheeky imprint left by her ass. She helps him right his clothing before disappearing into their bedroom and coming back out in a grey silk robe, a robe he acquired from a rival shipment seized months ago. He never thinks twice about presenting Betty with stolen contraband, after all, gifts are gifts, but he dares not tell her the truth in their origins. The robe, like almost everything in their home, was given to her in affection, and to Jughead, that’s all that matters. Domestic Betty is tucked away for another evening, Real Betty has returned.

“Come here, I want to talk to you,” he says, moving towards the front porch to partake in his favorite, post-coital cigarette. He can hear her rustling in the kitchen, putting the untouched hot dish away and pouring glasses of what’s probably lemonade. A door swings and then she’s there, crossing her legs next to him in the twilight. He reaches over, cigarette between two digits, and runs his thumb and ring finger up her exposed thigh. She trembles for a moment then sniffs prissily before edging away. He grins. “Yes?” she asks. “Can I help you?”

“I need to go away for a while. There’s one last loose end I need to tie up in Detroit before we make BMF totally legit.”

Betty knows what this means, it’s the code spoken by the elephant in the room, the shoe that never drops. Drugs and their various dealings were something FP rarely touched, not the hardcore stuff anyway, but Jughead took on narcotics full force after being crowned Serpent King. He insisted it was the only way for them to establish total authority and credibility in their region. She’d threatened, pleaded, and cried for him to change his mind, but he never wavered. His gamble paid off and he ruled over their realm with quiet intensity.

The influx of money helped rejuvenate Riverdale and put the Lodge’s ill-fated SoDale plan to shame. For her twenty-third birthday, Jughead had the Sisters of Quiet Mercy shuttered and demolished, and a new mental health facility for teens built in its place. She never cried and pleaded after that, but her heart still broke all the same. In reaction, Betty threw her soul into more philanthropic work, helping the Serpents get their GEDs, tutoring Southside children, and founding a school of the arts where Southside High once stood. She wrote grants using the Riverdale Register as her outlet.

“How long will you be gone?” she whispers, eyes expressing what her voice cannot. _Please, please, be telling the truth. Please let this be it._

“A few days,” he responds, “one week at most.”

His voice takes on a teasing tone and says, “Fangs is going with me, so you’ll have Sweet Pea and Toni here to keep you company.” He winks, and she grins sheepishly. Sweet Pea has a soft spot for Betty, and after many years together, they’d become faithful allies. They’re only 25, but old souls have a way of finding one another.

Jughead's face sobers and he puts out the cigarette not looking at her. “I want you to stay with Veronica and Archie for a few days. Just to be safe.” His voice is clear, this is non-negotiable.

When they’d moved in together, Jughead made Betty promise never to question him when he made a decision about her safety. They’d been through too much hell in their teenage years, and with more power come more threats. “Okay,” she murmurs, nodding her head slowly and picking at a stray thread on her robe. “Please be careful.”

There’s nothing more to say even though she wants to bite, kick, and scream for him to stop. What’s said is said.

Jughead stands up and leans over to kiss her forehead. “Hey,” he nudges, “I think I hear that hot dish calling our names.”

Later, they will make love again, unbeknownst for the last time. They will talk about expanding BMF’s maple themed product line, and she will muse aloud about turning the Register into a small, independent press. Later, he will help her pack her things for a few days’ stay.

Much later, she will vanish. She will shatter his heart. But for now, they plan.

**Now**

Jughead’s office looks apocalyptic in its damage. Toni doesn’t think she’s even in the right place when she walks in, too distracted by the carnage.

“Tell me what you know.” He’s abandoned his business man visage, there’s nothing left but leather and kingly disgust. Toni mourns the transition, he’s worked too hard to have it all fall to pieces in moments. Damn Betty.

“From what I can gather, she hopped states for a while before crossing the border and settling in this town. She apparently took on a new identity and was mighty clever to avoid us for so long. She obviously had help.” Toni says this last statement with ferocity; there’s a whiff of a traitor in their midst and must be sniffed out.

“And the boy?” Jughead asks so quietly she can barely hear. “How old?” If her heart hadn’t already broken when she found the photo on the beach, it fragments now at his resolve.

“Approximately five. He goes to school. My source says he’s sweet and bright, but his mother is reserved.” Jughead clenches his jaw and looks away after her last statement, it is a visible cue for her to stop. He cannot handle any more.

“Send Sweet Pea in.” Toni is dismissed.

“Hey Boss, Toni said you wanted to see me?” Sweet Pea is uneasy as he approaches Jughead’s desk. He loves Betty and is frightened of the consequences stemming from her betrayal.

 _Please_ , he thinks, _don’t ask me to do what must be done_.

Sweet Pea hears the _schick_ of a lighter and Jughead’s face illuminates from the flame. His righteousness is palpable. The axe is about to swing.

“I need a favor from you, Sweet Pea,” Jughead mutters, speaking through the cigarette in his mouth.

“Bring her to me.” He pauses. “Bring them both.”


	2. The Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Man, I am blown away by the response my little story has received. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! Please, spread the word and tell your friends. Bring a buddy along to enjoy the Bughead train! Also, I apologize in advance, but there is no smut in this chapter. Sometimes plot is necessary, you know? Don't worry, we will get back to the smutty-smut next time. Enjoy!

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do?  
I’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you  
He’s raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone  
Oh I just wanna take him home… _–_ The Civil Wars

** Now **

_It always comes down to money,_ Betty ponders with grim acceptance. The cash she’d stolen from Jughead had lasted only a few months, and by then, it was too late to return seeking forgiveness. A little stowaway in her womb was all the impetus she needed to persevere.

Hopping from town to town, she’d first survived by dancing before turning to waitressing and tutoring to make ends meet. The substitute teaching position she’d recently acquired (and the stability that came with it) was the most her little family had ever known in their short existence together, but an inkling in her spine and the empty space in her wallet were both suggesting flight. 

Betty sits back and surveys the tiny kitchen. It’s mostly bare save for a small water glass filled with daffodils. Her favorite.

The barren apartment is a far cry from her old home. There are no photos on the wall, no mismatched dish towels hanging from hooks on the stove. She wonders, briefly, about her teapot collection and beloved old books. Her heart tightens with grief and she pushes the memories away before they settle in like dust. _Did you smash them when you realized my betrayal? Did you burn my books in rage?_

The only decorations are pictures drawn by a childish hand, proudly displayed on a dilapidated fridge. One depicts a mother and son holding hands. The other portrays two figures with crowns.

_My, my, Elizabeth, how the mighty fall. I told you those Jones men bring nothing but pain._ Betty can hear Alice Cooper’s condescending voice echoing in the back of her mind. _She was right,_ Betty begrudgingly thinks. _Twenty hours of labor were plenty enough to last me a lifetime._ She was lying to herself, though. The constant ache runs much deeper.

Speaking of precious, lingering reminders, little feet shuffle into view.

“Mommy, I can’t sleep.” Betty looks up over the bill she’d been perusing and sighs. “What’s wrong, sweetie, bad dreams?”

“Uh-huh. The tall man I saw at the playground today was in my dreams.”

Sleepy green eyes meet matching alarmed ones and Betty stills. “What tall man?”

“The man at the playground. He didn’t think I saw him, but I did.” Worried, Betty pulls the little boy into her lap. “How close was he? Did he say anything to you?”

“No. Lily didn’t see him either. She said I was pretending like our last monster game.” Betty’s tension eases a bit. Silly boy games are simple to unravel, it’s their real life web she has difficulty untangling.

Betty rests her chin on top of his small dark head and inhales. Her little man always smells like soap, crayons, and mud puddles. It is her favorite scent in the world, right before leather and cigarettes.

“What did I tell you about playing monster games? It’s not nice to scare your friends, bud.”

Realizing he’s lost his credibility, the boy changes subjects guilelessly. “Mommy, tell me the story. Pretty please?”

“Only if you promise to go back to bed, mmk? We both have school tomorrow, and I don’t want to deal with grumpy little boys in the morning, monsters or not.”

Betty stands with her son wrapped around her torso. Even though he’s five, he’s still not too big to be carried and tucked into bed. Smoothing the blanket, she lays down beside him and scans his precious face. His eyes are her own but everything else is his father’s, right down to his full mouth and tiny stubborn jaw. Every day, he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. And every day, she reaffirms her vow to do anything to keep him safe.

“Once upon a time, there was a powerful warrior king. He was known throughout all the empires for being the most ruthless but fair ruler. People traveled from far and wide to seek his support and guidance --” a small voice interrupts, “-- because he was so smart!”

Betty smiles gently, “Yes, because he was so smart.”

The story interloper waits patiently for his mother to continue, his outburst curbed for now. “Even though the king was well respected and had everything his heart desired, he was lonely. He’d lost his queen and was isolated from his subjects.”

“Did his queen have yellow hair like you, mommy?” Betty pauses and snuggles into the pillow they’re sharing. _These Jones boys never miss a thing,_ she contemplates sadly.

“Hmm, maybe. Now, do you want to hear the story or not?” she asks with a small frown. He nods his head enthusiastically and mimes zipping his lip. She winks and continues again.

“One day, the king was alone on his throne when a little prince suddenly appeared. The little prince had hair as black as a raven’s wing and green eyes like shining emeralds.” Betty cringes internally at the lame similes, her journalist heart bemoans the fairy tale rhetoric she’s created to appease a certain real little prince who was kicking his legs under the sheets in excitement. His favorite part of the story has arrived.

“The little prince approached the lonely king and asked him to be his friend. The king was worried and resisted at first, but the little prince was stubborn. He invited the king to join him in all sorts of fun games, and soon the king wasn’t so lonely anymore.”

“Because the little prince made him happy again!” the child exclaims triumphantly. Betty chuckles quietly and rises from the bed. “Yes, he was the best little prince who deserved the most kisses.” With that, she leans over and peppers his face before walking to the doorway and turning off the light.

“Mommy,” his voice, tinged with slumber, calls from the bed. “Why doesn’t the queen ever come back? Did she die?”

“I don’t know, my little prince. She’s just…gone.”

** Then **

Her Serpent Queen coronation had turned into quite the Riverdale social affair, much to Betty’s chagrin. Gazing at the reflection in her old mirror, she barely recognizes the regal woman looking back. Cheryl’s diligent work on her hair and make-up was impressive even though the celebration ended hours ago. Betty’s usual ponytail is gone, replaced with a lustrous chignon, and her normal natural palette has been upgraded with winged eyeliner and berry lips.  

Jughead spared no expense on the party and Veronica’s budding event planning business was put on full display. Even though she’d agreed to Juggie’s Serpent proposal when they were teens, he’d insisted on an actual ceremony for her twenty-fourth birthday.

Like everything else in their lives, the old Southside tradition had been revamped and reworked until it shone with new money gleam. However, at its core, the old vein of dubious power was still there. Jughead was king, and now her position as consort was solidified. She’d stand by his side, no matter what.

“Hey there, Juliet.” She grins at the old diminutive and meets his gaze through the mirror.

Like her, Jughead is transformed. His black on black tuxedo is simple, the man it adorns makes it fierce. The beanie long abandoned, his hair is sleek and tame. For now.

“You were splendid tonight,” he murmurs as he approaches the small bench she’s sitting on. Most of the furniture in their house is new, pieces here and there Jughead gifted to her for various occasions. However, she’d insisted on her ancient vanity accompanying them. It is a reminder of her old life, her tether when things get overwhelming.

He places both his hands on her shoulders and rests his index finger on her pulse, smiling wolfishly when he feels it quicken. One strap of her slip has fallen down and he moves the other one to match.

“I was nervous during the speaking part,” she admits, leaning back into his touch. “The Serpent laws don’t come as easily to me as they do to you.” His snake skin sheds and regrows so effortlessly, but she will always have to struggle slightly to fit into hers. _One day_ , she hopes, _her transition will be as seamless._

“Don’t tell me the great orator, Elizabeth Cooper, was daunted by words? The same woman who, at the age of sixteen, put the entire town in its place for eating its young?” She rolls her eyes at his cryptic allusion. Even as a grown man, he still possesses his dramatic, acerbic wit.

“Hush. It was nerve wracking, not to mention the whole kneeling part,” she huffs, folding her hands primly in her lap.

Jughead leans down without breaking eye contact and whispers, “Oh, but buttercup, you are so pretty on your knees.” Betty gasps softly and looks away, color rising in her cheeks. A laugh rumbles low in his chest, he’s delighted he can still make her blush after all this time. Sobering, he squats down so they’re eye level.

“Simmer down, I didn’t come in here to tease you. I came to congratulate you and give you this...” His voice trails off shakily and she turns slightly to look at him head on. It doesn’t register that he’s slid to one knee.

Suddenly, he’s no longer the confident, commanding leader bedecked in black. He’s the boy in a rundown trailer, baring his soul to the girl he loves, waiting, praying for her to say it back. Betty tears up at his vulnerability and is transfixed; she sees the real Juggie so rarely these days.

“I have loved you since we were children, playing at the river, when you made me release all the minnows I caught. I have loved you from the moment you gave me your sandwich in kindergarten, once you noticed my lunch pail was empty each day. I have loved you in all your virtuous glory, when you stand up and fight for those less fortunate and weak. I have loved your mind since the moment we re-opened the Blue and Gold, and I have loved your soul from the moment we first made love.” She is crying earnestly now, and he reaches up with one thumb to wipe away the tears.

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he whispers. “Will you please be my wife?”

She sobs and slides into the floor, joining  him, burying her face into his neck. “Yes, yes, one thousand times, yes.”

His lips find hers and she tastes salt and heady devotion before he’s crushing her with the force of his embrace. She can barely make out the words he breathes into her mouth before he rolls and tucks her beneath him.

“I will love you until the day you die, Betty, and even then, I will still love you beyond.”

** Now **

Betty awakens with tears streaming down her face. Like her son, a tall man has also invaded her dreams, albeit this one is not a monster. He’s much worse.

She runs a hand down her face and takes a deep, calming breath before reaching into the night stand drawer. She doesn’t need a light to see, she could find it anywhere in the dark.

Pulling out a delicate ring, she slips it onto her left finger, feeling the familiar weight on her hand and in her heart. Diamonds wink in the moonlight, their facets reflecting futures lost. _I could finally sell it_ , she thinks, _the money will surely take care of us for a while until we settle again._ The spiel is all too familiar, this ring and her boy are the only ties left to a life she never really had. She cannot part with either, as long as she lives.

Rising, Betty makes her way to the bereft kitchen in search for water, checking the second bedroom quickly and quietly. The little prince sleeps on, whatever bad dreams are long banished.

In hindsight, she should have known. She should have paid attention to the signs. Jughead always told her that complacency is dangerous, movement is life. She’d become stagnant for too long, and now it was time to pay.

So when she turns on her kitchen light and sees Sweet Pea sitting at her table, she barely has time to register before everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are the best, so please keep them coming. And for those who have asked, I plan to update this story weekly to the best of my ability. Finally, I'm taking bets on the baby's name. Who wants to give it a try? ;-P


	3. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Mr. Disaster and I took some last minute vacations before summer ended and time got away from me. However, the story should be back on track now with regular updates! I apologize in advance for the short chapter, but sometimes plot is necessary to move a story forward, y'know?

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, he’s somewhere between  
A hangman’s knot, and three mouths to feed  
There wasn’t a wrong or a right he could choose  
He did what he had to do… - The Civil Wars

** Now **

Sweet Pea remembers the first time he laid eyes on Betty Cooper. They were kids and she was up on the bar’s stage, sliding down a pole, eyes settling on one man that wasn’t him. He didn’t mind, he was used to quiet acquiescence. Betty was never meant to be his, and he respected their place in each other’s worlds. Her husky voice and tinkling laugh were precious to him; he’d never had a female best friend before, especially one so strong and solemn. Seeing her laid out, broken and silent, on a dilapidated couch was shattering him in deeper ways than he’d imagined.  In that moment, he hated Jughead. _Damn you Jug, for making me do your dirty work_ , he thinks. _You’d knew I’d never let her go_.

Betty was a fighter and Sweet Pea admired that in her. She never gave up on him or the other Serpents, even when things were catastrophic as they often were. Her blood ran thick with fidelity, so when she’d disappeared, they’d all been devastated. Jughead had fallen to pieces. As a result, Sweet Pea suffered silently, remaining steadfast in his boss’s stormy wake. He’d never processed her departure. The loss was too great.

Looking at her now, resting fitfully after he scooped her off the kitchen floor, he realizes it was worth the pain. She was alive. He’d take her home, even if she hated him. It was where they all belonged.

A small voice tears him from his musings. “Is Mommy okay? Why is she asleep?” Sweet Pea turns and locks eyes with the Serpent heir.

“She’ll be fine, she was just surprised and needed to nap.” Kids were not Sweet Pea’s forte, especially a child he didn’t even know existed two weeks ago. The explanation was lame but it mollified the little boy enough to direct his inquiries elsewhere.

“You’re the man I saw on the playground. If you’re a monster, I’ll kill you dead!” Green eyes flash with lethal promise in a pint sized body, and Sweet Pea has to bite back a grin of recognition. _There’s that infamous Jones temper_.  

Sweet Pea unfolds from his kneeling position and towers over the tyke. Naturally, the child is fearless. His already broken heart cracks again. _You may have your dad’s temper kid, but your balls of steel come straight from your mom._

 “I’m not a monster, I’m a friend of your mother’s. My name is Sweet Pea, what’s yours?”  Wary eyes blink slowly before answering.

“My name is Forsythe Pendleton Jones IV, but my mommy calls me Penn.”

** Now **

“I heard your pigeon is coming home to roost.” Jughead gazes darkly at the woman lying next to him before swinging his legs over the bed and pulling on a pair of jeans. He lights his last cigarette and blows fumes toward her silhouette before responding drily, “Toni has a big mouth.” Her laugh is barely a puff of air in the still room.

Vivian Clarke is an enigma, one Jughead never bothered to ponder until now. She was the antithesis of Betty, all sharp angles with dark curly hair and sad brown eyes. She’d lost her husband and baby girl in a Ghoulie attack gone wrong several years ago, and had been an outlier in the Serpent community ever since. She didn’t accept help, instead choosing to live her life in silent grief.  They’d forged a weird bond, coming together physically to deal with their mutual pain. It was a bond he was severing tonight. He stands and reaches into his pocket, but stills when he sees her jolt quickly from the bed.

“Look, whatever it is you’re about to give me, I don’t want.” She holds her hand up in protest. “I never expected or asked anything from you, Jughead, so please show me the same decency in kind.” Her candidness is refreshing, and he feels relief wash over him. He leaves the obscene money in his pocket untouched. Jughead pulls on a shirt and walks towards the door before briefly contemplating kissing her goodbye. Vivian reads his mind though, and edges away back into the dim bedroom. His dismissal is clear, their time is over.

He’s halfway down the damp street before he hears her call his name. He turns to see her running up to him, clad only in a flannel robe – an homage to her late husband.

“Make sure to buy him some toys…and things to color with. And books to read at night! He’ll need his own bed, too. His own space. But most importantly, Jughead…he’ll need his mama.” Her words are thick with unshed tears, and he quickly realizes they aren’t for him.

“I know, Vivian. I know. I need his mother, too.”

** Then **

Claudius Blossom is losing his touch. The blonde bitch hasn’t breathed a word of betrayal against the snake king, so now it's time to up the ante. She’d cried so prettily when he’d first tied her down, and he’d been filled with sick glee at the prospect of breaking such a pristine girl. But the minute he’d mentioned Jughead’s downfall, she’d bowed up and retreated inside herself like some damn martyr.

He leaned in and licked her ear before continuing. “You make him weak, my dear. But I’ll make him strong. You’ll see.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me life. Please leave your thoughts/suggestions/ideas below! Thank youuuuuuu!


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